An Agreeable Ache
by Roxy Rosee
Summary: "She had no goddamn business being all the way out here. No shoes. No water. And the way she had to drag each step out of her bare legs made him think that she was either drugged or drunk or both. That last part made him smirk. She may as well have been wrapped up in a pretty little bow."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so this is my first ever Mac story, so go easy on me! Depending on what you all think, I could be convinced to expand this into a multi-chapter fic, but as it stands it's a one-shot. R&R :)**

**An Agreeable Ache**

As it turned out, the bitch was light as a fucking feather. She might have looked heavy, stumbling blindly across the canyons in the middle of the night. But holding her against him now, he figured he could carry her one-handed. Mac had watched her from his truck, for a while. She had no goddamn business being all the way out here. No shoes. No water. And the way she had to drag each step out of her bare legs made him think that she was either drugged or drunk or both. That last part made him smirk. She may as well have been wrapped up in a pretty little bow.

Mac flipped on the lights to his truck, and she stared right into them. Didn't even blink- like a deer caught in that empty highway trance. That made him grin even wider. Maybe when he was done with her, he'd string her up and run her down. It'd be a bitch to get out of the grill, but just might be worth it. He pawed roughly at his growing bulge, picturing her all spread out for him, waiting to get rammed by his truck.

While he watched, the girl abruptly re-animated. She glided towards him over the smooth rock, and Mac got a better look at her. She was wearing one of those denim button-up shirts bitches these days seemed to like. White shorts, too. And she was covered in blood, gone all gummy and thick from exposure. It congealed at her shoulders, and dripped down in thick rivers. But as far as Mac could tell, it wasn't coming from her. He might have left her, if it had been. Wasn't any fun to fuck up some damaged whore; he preferred those self-righteous little angels, all shiny hair and wide smiles.

He couldn't tell what color _her_ hair was, under the reddened clay. But even mucked up, it fell in perfect waves past her shoulders. While Mac watched, she stepped right up to the front of his truck, placing her hands on the hood with an expression of awe. She ghosted over the warm metal, followed its curving path with her fingertips.

The girl traced along that slick red paint, all the way over to his door. The way she touched his truck made him throb all the harder in his jeans. Her fingers grazed over it with the same pride and admiration that his did when he was alone, like it was something sacred, valuable. And just like that, he couldn't sit back and watch any longer.

Mac flung open the door, narrowly missing the small-framed girl just behind it.

"Get over here," he growled, expecting her to startle at the very least, more likely make a run for it. But she remained as serene as ever, watching him almost shyly and leaning back against the truck. He looked her over once, licking his lips, then a hand darted out to grasp her by her hair. He spun her around and slammed her into the door, pressing his hips up against her ass so she could feel him.

Still, she remained silent, malleable. Mac's lip curled into something of a snarl; he'd fuck that right out of her.

He lifted her with one arm and dragged her over to the bed of his truck, flipping it open and forcing her against the floor. He ripped her shorts down her body, and grinned lewdly at what he found.

"Commando, huh? Dirty little whore…"

He kicked at her ankles, forcing her legs wider, and ran a calloused hand up the inside of her leg and to her core.

"Fuckin' wet?" Mac rasped, thrusting a finger inside of her. "What the hell you doin' all the way out here _wet_, little girl?"

She didn't answer, but he could hear that her breathing was picking up. That at least, was a start. Mac jabbed at her clit with his thumb, and her knees buckled with a gasp.

"Yeah, that's right. You want it, don't you? Kinky bitch," Mac groaned, snaking a hand around her middle to keep her standing. She was tight; tighter than anything he'd fucked, that was for sure. And the _heat_ coming off this girl…she felt feverish, and maybe she was, but Mac would gladly contract any fucked up disease she could give him, so long as he got to have a go at that tight little number.

He fucked his fingers into her faster, harder, until she was pulsing around him. He had the idea in the back of his mind to make her want him, make her beg for release, and then deny her. Mac dropped her suddenly, taking a swift step back to undo his fly. The unexpected movement seemed to startle her out of her daze, and the girl looked back at him for the first time, elbows propped on the bed of his truck.

Nothing. Expressionless. Expectant, if anything; but even that would never be _enough_.

Abruptly, Mac slammed her head forward, hard enough that when he ripped her back up by the scruff of her neck, her _own_ blood dripped down her face in pretty torrents. Diverging, then coming together. She looked at him again, and he growled in frustration. She hadn't even _winced_, or shown the slightest inclination of fear.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snarled, wrapping a hand around her throat. His fist clenched, and she gasped and choked for air. But she didn't claw at his iron grip, didn't try to shout for him to stop. All at once, he dropped both hands to her hips and bucked forwards, shoving himself inside of her. _That would teach her. That'd teach that fucking bitch…_

"_Yes._"

Instead of an anguished scream of violation, it was a moan. Instead of resisting, her walls pulsed around him, drawing him deeper. Mac groaned unwittingly, snapping his hips forward again. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had said that word to him, not like _that_. And her voice- all breathy and sweet…a shudder flurried up his spine, and he growled in irritation.

"Don't you fuckin' dare come," he warned her, "You don't get to enjoy this. This isn't _for _you."

Mac pistoned into her, and the sound of their bodies slapping together echoed out into the vacant desert. But even with her hands pinned behind her back and her face shoved into the bed of his truck, Mac's threats didn't seem to register with the girl. She moaned anew, body thrumming and vibrating around him to the point where Mac fleetingly considered pulling out and killing her straight off. Sex had never felt this good before. Even the whores he paid to make out like they were into him couldn't put on this good a show.

It was because she _wanted_ him, Mac realized all at once. She was biting hard at her lower lip, trying her best to obey his demand and stifle her moans. But every time he bottomed out in that tight, wet heat of hers, these little noises would bubble out of her. Those desperate whimpers made him want to slit her throat, here and now. Instead, he fucked her harder.

His hips were slamming into hers hard enough to bruise, nails biting into the skin at her neck as he held her down, but everything about the way her body was writhing underneath him said she wanted _more._ She looked at him over her shoulder again, lips quirking as she tried to bite back a smile. And it was all fucking wrong.

Fury ballooned in Mac's chest, boiling over in a rush. He pulled out of her and spun her onto her ass, slapping her hard across the face with a grunt.

"Yeah, you like that? You like that, you fuckin' whore!"

Her head cast to the side with the force of it. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at him, blood trickling down her lip. And there was that look in her eyes again. Cool, contrary, completely unaffected.

Mac's hand balled into a fist and he punched her hard, a sickening crack reverberating when his knuckles collided with her cheek bone. He watched her raise a hand to her face and daintily press her fingers to the spot he'd hit. Not even a flinch.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snarled again, punching her in the stomach this time. "Why don't you feel it? Why don't you fucking fight back?"

Mac raked his hands through his hair painfully, the picture of frustration. And the girl watched him with an odd expression, then slid forward until her legs hung lazily from the truck bed, pulling herself closer by the loops of his belt.

"Why do you want me to?" she asked him. And that question threw him more than anything, mainly because she seemed so damn sincere about it. Like she expected him to have an answer. Like she just wanted to know.

"There's something wrong with you," he accused, avoiding the question. "You're fucked up."

"Mmhmm," she hummed in the vague affirmative, pulling him inches closer. Smiling when he let her. "What's your name?"

"What's it matter?" he countered defiantly.

"Maybe I'll need to know what to scream later," she said softly, in a tone so innocent and unassuming that he throbbed in response.

"Mac," he rasped.

And before he could say anything else, her hand darted out to grasp him, running her fingers over the soft skin with just the right amount of friction.

"Fuck," he grunted. Her palm twisted over the head, and he hissed through his teeth. "Fuck, just like that. You dirty bitch…"

He let her caress him for half a minute more before wrenching her legs apart and sheathing himself inside.

Mac gasped at the pressure, "So fuckin' tight. Been savin' yourself for me, bitch? Been waitin' for my big cock to come fill you up?"

"Yes," she moaned, throwing her head back wantonly. "Yes, _Mac_."

And Christ, he didn't want to be as close as he was. But if she kept clenching around him, kept saying his fucking name, he didn't know how much longer he could ride this out. The fact that he wanted to extend this probably troubled him most of all. Usually it was a race to get his rocks off, then out the door. But this girl, she was some top-shelf pussy. And he was going to fucking savor it.

"You want to come?"

"Yes," she whimpered, pressing herself closer to him. He nearly shoved her back, not used to being clung onto like this by any of his whores. But the angle was so fucking good, tight enough to make his vision blur. So he let her wrap herself around him, heels digging into his back invitingly.

"Such a slut for it, aren't you? You'd do anything for my cock," he groaned. "You come when I tell you to come, you hear me?"

He pinched her hard nipples through her shirt, nails stinging sharply. She yelped, then moaned.

"Yes," she breathed, eyes locked on him like he was the only thing linking her to the planet, "Mac, please."

And it wasn't the first time a girl had begged him. _Please don't kill me. Please let me go. Please stop. _But that word out of her dainty little mouth had him threatening to blow. He bucked into her harder, faster.

"If ya wanna come, ya best do it now, bitch," he panted. One of her hands snaked around to his back, fisting his shirt. The other went far too obviously for her clit, and he smacked it away.

"You come from my cock, or you don't come at all. Got it?" he growled.

She nodded quickly, placing that hand on his neck instead, and holding his gaze. And Christ if that didn't make him want to kill her and come inside her at the same damn time. He tried to think back, come up with any time he'd had sex with a girl face-to-face, and he came up blank. No, he always took his women from behind. That way they couldn't watch him while he came, and he didn't have to look at them at all.

But this girl was utterly fixated on him. Pupils blown wide in arousal, instead of fear. He licked his lips, and felt her clench around him in response. And maybe it was something about his eyes that did it, but one more thrust and she exploded around him, moaning high and long, clinging tightly to his body, and looking him right in the eye as she did it.

Her orgasm milked Mac's right out of him, and he came with a growl that turned to a moan, and then a whimper he'd never admit to. "_Fuck._"

She slumped against his chest with her legs still hooked around his waist, and her face buried in his chest. He let her. And he wasn't in much of a position to push her away, considering he'd just come harder than he could ever recall, and was having a hell of a time catching his breath.

"Fuck," he panted, after several minutes had passed. She was still pressed up against him. Remembering himself, he pushed her away from him abruptly. The girl barely caught herself from falling backwards, and he wondered again what in the hell she was on. She was watching him closely, but clearly fighting to keep her eyes open.

Mac hitched up his fly and threw her shorts back at her, expecting her to dress herself. He paced back and forth around the side of the truck, looking back at her intermittently. She'd closed the trunk and was leaning against it, watching him with that same eerily calm expression.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" he snarled, charging back towards her.

Again, not a word.

"You fuckin' answer when I ask you a question, bitch!"

She tilted her head just slightly. "Mac," she murmured, so soft he barely heard her. The word sounded so intimate coming from her lips that he nearly punched her again, to expunge the memory of it.

"I should fuckin' leave you here!" he shouted in her face, hoping for a response he could work with. But she just continued to look at him, something like curiosity playing at her features. She squinted, as if she were trying to decipher a language she didn't quite understand.

"Do you _want_ me to leave you here?" he finally huffed defeatedly.

She appeared to think about that one for a moment, carefully eyeing the surrounding canyons.

"No," she finally whispered.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. "You're fuckin' nuts, ain't you? Just straight up bat-shit," he grumbled, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.

Abruptly, he slammed his hands down on either side of her body, caging her close to him. It achieved little more than a sharp intake of breath, and even that seemed to be more out of surprise than fright.

"Maybe I'll keep you, huh?" he rasped, face inches from hers. He scanned her face for any indication of her feelings on the matter. "Maybe I'll just fuckin' keep you."

The way she held his gaze made his skin crawl.

Mac pushed himself away from her roughly, holding his hands out in an open invitation and giving her free reign.

"So what'll it be, huh crazy?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him incredulously, then slowly walked to the passenger side of the truck, and slipped lazily into the seat.

Mac huffed out a sigh.

"What the fucking fuck," he muttered under his breath. He slid into the truck beside her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

By the time they reached Mac's sorry excuse for a house, the girl was out cold. She was sprawled out across the seat they shared, with her head mostly on his lap. And despite the heavy shaking of his right leg, and the wild way he'd protested when she'd first begun to lean her weight against him, nothing seemed to rouse her.

He pulled into his driveway, and briefly considered leaving her in the truck. But Walter could drive by any time, and Mac had promised him to be more discreet. So Mac threw the girl over his shoulder and hauled her into the house, depositing her in the bathtub in the vague hope that she'd clean herself off when she woke up. And anyways, he didn't share his bed with the women he fucked. Tonight would be no different.

Mac trudged back into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. It was sparse, containing just a moldy pizza and a few six-packs of beer. He had just popped open the tab of the closest Bud when a voice from behind him called out "Mac?"

He turned on his heel, disgruntled to have been startled in his own home, and found the girl standing at the edge of the kitchen.

The blood on her body was dry and flaky now. Her feet were still bare. And he couldn't help but focus on the inflection of her voice when she said his name. A question to it, for the first time since he'd spotted her. As if she needed confirmation that he was real.

"Right. _Now_ you're fuckin' awake. After I hauled your lazy ass inside," Mac spat, closing in on her.

But if anything, his sudden aggression seemed to put her at ease. He heard her let out a slow breath. She was smiling again.

"This is your house," she said with a sense of wonder, like it were some great reward to be here, of all places. Mac grimaced, and pushed past her into the living room. He shook out his jacket, letting his pack of cigarettes and lighter fall to the floor. He heard the girl trailing closely behind him.

Mac felt frustration boil up in his veins. He focused all his attention on lighting a cigarette, pulling it to his mouth and sucking hard. He turned around and blew out a thick breath of smoke into her face.

"The fuck do you want?" he asked her.

"You," she immediately replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. In the half-second it took Mac to recover from that confession, she softly asked him, "Can I take a bath?"

Mac took another long draw from the cigarette, letting the buzz of the nicotine wash over him. "Do what you want," he eventually said, walking away from her to plop down on the couch by himself. He alternated between chugging down his beer and sucking on smoke, and listened to the girl venture deeper into his house, finding the bathroom and turning the water on.

Mac was four beers in when he realized that sitting on that couch, giving the girl her fucking privacy, was a shot to the nuts more than anything. He promptly jumped to his feet and strode right into the bathroom, finding her soaking in a tub dingy and reddened with blood.

The sight had him grinning at her lewdly, palming his growing bulge. And he was almost disappointed when she didn't jolt or startle when he burst through the door. Instead, she shot him that same iridescent half-smile, watching him lazily while he leaned up against the sink.

He'd intended to fuck her. Knock her around a little at least; whatever would make this whole situation less infuriating. But now he was more enthralled with watching her. Aside from her head and shoulders, the only parts of body peeking out of the water were the crests of her breasts and the tips of her knees. Something about that was even more appealing than all the bitches he paid to strip bare.

"You got a name?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"Still with the silent treatment, huh? Typical bitch..."

"_You_ should pick one," she said suddenly, in that ever-soft voice, and Mac's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"The hell do you mean 'I should pick one'?"

"A name you like," she continued without really answering him, "Give me a name you like."

"Yeah? How 'bout stupid slut?" he shot back rudely, but her face betrayed only amused exasperation.

"I'm serious, Mac. Take some time and think about it. Whatever name you want."

He eyed her curiously. "You tryin' to play it off like you don't got a real name?"

"No, I had one. But now I want a new one. One _you_ gave me."

He took another drag of his cigarette. "Y'really are nuts, huh? Just fuckin' nuts... I like it." He threw his still-lit cigarette into the bath, and it sizzled ominously. "Bath time's over."

Mac disappeared through the open door, knowing she'd be close behind him. He leaned against the kitchen counter, and a few seconds later, the nameless girl stepped through his bedroom and living room, now wearing one of his old flannel shirts. There was something pleasingly grotesque about knowing that at a time, there'd been just as much blood on her skin as on that shirt, but both had been scrubbed back to their former glory.

The girl moved towards him, stopping when there were only inches between them, and they were breathing the same air. In better light and closer quarters, Mac could see her scars now. They were old, doled out before she'd reached teenage-hood certainly. And really, they descended in a pattern that bordered on beautiful, stretching from the side of her neck down across her back, and picking up again at the inside of her thigh.

The marks were faint as anything, a crisscross of lines that he could hardly feel under the thick callouses of his fingers when he reached out to trace the alluring path.

"Do you like me better without it?" the girl asked; it startled Mac out of his haze.

"Without what?" he rasped.

She gave him that same exasperated look, as if the answer was obvious. "The blood."

Mac thought about that for a moment. Finally, he told her, "If you're gonna be covered in blood, I'm gonna make damn sure it's your _own._"

He'd looked her right in the eye as he said it, and hadn't missed the flicker of pleasure at his words.

"Yeah, you like that don't you?" he drawled, holding her by the neck with one hand, "You're all kinds of fucked up."

Mac grabbed a knife off the counter, and skimmed the blade down the side of her face. She didn't so much as flinch. If anything, she looked disappointed.

"What, that ain't dangerous enough for you?" he spat, growing frustrated.

Abruptly, the girl snatched the knife out of his hand.

"The fuck do you think you're—" Mac began, but before he could finish his statement, the delicate girl pulled open the shirt she was wearing, and sliced the blade across the thin skin at her own collar bone.

Mac licked his lips as he watched the droplets of blood sliver down her chest. But again, even an injury in a place that had to be all nerves garnered no response from the mysterious girl. She was eyeing him expectantly, waiting for him to respond. And when a moment's worth of waiting still resulted in sustained silence, the girl let out a frustrated huff, and raised one hand to the wound she'd inflected on herself.

She brandished four well-kempt nails, and dug them into the cut, scratching at what had to be bone.

Not even a gasp. And at that, Mac's eyes narrowed in vague understanding.

"You can't feel it," he surmised, "The fuck are you on?"

"Nothing," she said softly, "Didn't take anything. Wasn't slipped anything either."

"So what, you didn't feel nothing earlier? That's what you're saying?"

"No," she immediately insisted, "I felt _you_."

And that provided Mac with an uncharacteristic sense of relief. He'd come harder than a freight train, and it would spoil the memory to think her apparent pleasure had been an elaborate act.

"Y'ain't makin' any fuckin' sense," Mac growled. "You're lyin'. You're high as a goddamn kite."

She seemed more disheartened, afterward, than affronted.

The girl looked down at her feet, appearing somewhat self-conscious. "It's just...what I am," she said softly.

And given that this was the first time Mac's antics had startled any sort of response out of her aside from composed amusement, Mac finally took her words seriously.

"You can't feel...what?" he asked her, "Anything?"

"I feel most things. Just not pain. I can't feel pain."

"At all?"

"At all. For as long as I can remember. It's some sort of genetic disease, I was told. I bleed. My bones break. And tomorrow I'm sure I'll have bruises from where you hit me. But I don't hurt; I never have."

It was the most she'd spoken at once thus far.

"That explains somethin'," he mused, "But not why you were out in the mesa tonight. Or why you were covered in blood. And it wasn't yours."

"No. It wasn't," she said simply. As he watched, the girl raised her bloody fingertips to Mac's lips, hovering just above them. "But this is."

Without a second thought, Mac dipped his head and pulled those bloody fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. With the taste of her still on his lips, he pinned the girl between himself and the kitchen counter, and shoved his coppery tongue into her mouth. She moaned against him, and Mac smirked smugly.

But even as his fingernails dug into the soft skin of her hips, hands roughly palming her breasts and pinching at her nipples, this new tidbit of information rolled around in the back of Mac's mind, irking him. She couldn't feel pain. Mac, he'd never be able to _make_ her feel it, no matter how hard he tried. Even killing her wouldn't satisfy the need, because she wouldn't feel that either.

He wanted to hurt her. He'd hurt all the others, and the thrill of their pleading moans satisfied him more completely than being inside them. At least, it had.

Mac wanted to scare her as well. The power of it could have him coming untouched, seeing in a girl's eyes that she were completely at his will. But _this_ girl, she'd never fear him either. Not really; not the way he craved.

And what reason did she have to be afraid? There's nothing to fear without the possibility of pain and death, and this girl hadn't the framework to understand either. This new information left his skin itching and too tight, a sickening combination of arousal and distaste. The excitement of such new territory butted with the desires and rituals he'd honed so well over the years, and he was left with frigid bitterness.

His mouth stopped moving against hers, and the girl noticed before Mac did.

She pushed her hair out of the way to look up at him. "It's okay if you don't want me now," she said softly, voice tinged with a well-accepted sadness. She went to move away from him, but Mac grabbed her wrists fiercely, shoving them against the countertop.

"We stop when I say we stop," he growled. He may not have known what he wanted to do next with this vexatious girl, but he knew that _he _was the one who'd make that decision. She didn't get to walk off, or look so fucking sad about his indecision.

But when he grabbed at her roughly, he saw the girl's pupils blow out wide and black. He spun her around and slammed her hands down onto the counter, a position familiar enough to jolt him back in his comfort zone.

"Keep yer hands where I put 'em," Mac growled, pulling her backwards by the hips so her ass jutted out attractively. Her body trembled, but the girl made no attempt to disobey.

"You listen good," he rasped, "Do what I say, and I'll make you come. Anything else and you get nothin', got it?"

"Yes," she whispered shakily, and Mac grinned at the side of her face. _This..._this he could work with.

"That's what I thought," he snarled. "Now listen here, first rule's no talking. Not a word unless I say otherwise."

Shoving two blunt fingers inside her, Mac nodded his approval when she swallowed a moan.

"Second rule's you don't touch. Don't touch me, and don't touch yourself, unless I tell ya I want a show," Mac said into the crook of her neck. He withdrew his fingers from her tight, wet confines and replaced them with his cock, allowing for no preamble before thrusting roughly inside. She groaned wordlessly through her teeth.

"Third rule's, you only get to come when I say you can come. But you know that one, don't ya slut? S'how I had ya comin' all over my big dick earlier. You like big dicks, dontcha?"

He punctuated the question with a particularly vicious thrust, which had the girl's palms sliding across the linoleum tiles.

"You answer me when I ask you a question," Mac growled forcefully. Finding her clit, he rubbed it hard, teasing her with the prospect of release. "You like big dicks?"

"Yes!" the girl gasped, back arching.

"Whose big dick do you like?"

"Yours! Yours Mac," she nearly sobbed. Mac could hear the way she kept swallowing those little noises building up in the back of her throat, and the girl's struggle to obey him was a heady rush.

He smiled to himself at how satisfying this kind of fuck was, albeit different. Each time she clenched around him, each time she shivered all the way down her spine, Mac knew it was in an effort to stave off the inevitable.

If he couldn't punish her with pain, he'd do it with pleasure.

Too soon, Mac found himself dangerously close to losing it. But judging by the way the girl was squirming with his every movement, she was just as ready.

"You wanna come?" he asked, teasing her.

"Yes, Mac," she moaned.

"That's what you want, huh? You think you deserve to come on my cock?" Fuck, he was enjoying this.

"_Please_," she whimpered, growing desperate, and Mac stilled completely inside of her.

"Beg me for it," he whispered in her ear, hot breath snaking over the sensitive skin and striking her alight.

"Please Mac," she murmured in a rush, "Please make me come. _I need you_. I need you to. _Please_."

_I need you_.

The words made Mac's cock pulse, and his chest tighten unpleasantly in surprise. But even the shock of it couldn't hold him back now, not when he had this mystery girl panting and writhing against him, begging with her mouth and her hips and her whole fucking body.

"Yeah, you fucking need me, huh? Need me to make you come. Need me to make you feel good. Such a whore for me." Mac mouthed uncharacteristically at the knob of her spine, wanting to feel the pleasure vibrate through her. "Do it. Fuckin' come."

And as if Mac had flipped some sort of switch, the girl convulsed around him on demand. She shuddered hard, and bit at her lip in an attempt to stifle the grateful moans. Mac's hips jerked against her, drawing out her bliss until his own orgasm crashed into him like frozen rain. A million bolts of molten ice careened straight through him, and Mac froze against her, savoring the feeling.

He was hardly surprised when upon stepping away from her, the girl toppled to the floor. Without bothering to hitch up his pants, Mac sidestepped her and headed straight back to his bedroom, slamming the door in his wake.

Hours later, Mac awoke to a call from Walter- and not the good kind.

Though that being said, talking with Walter was never good, per se. Their chats tended to range from subdued aggression to vicious shouting. This one, though, took the cake.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Mac?! Are you fucking stupid? I told you- _no more bodies," _Walter shouted, unreachably livid.

Mac might have garnered up some hostility to match, if not for his honest confusion.

"What bodies?" he barked back.

"_What bodies_? What fucking bodies? The three you left out in the mesa, you worthless piece of shit! Just around the corner from the fucking lab!"

Mac went silent as Walter continued on his rant. He would never shit so close to where he ate; Walter had forced him to learn that lesson years back. And as of last night, Mac had been thinking that the mystery girl's appearance so close to _his _cave was just an eerie coincidence.

And it might have been a coincidence. If not for this.

Mac hung up on Walter without bothering to defend himself and stomped out into the living room, where the girl was curled up into a miniscule ball on his aging couch.

When he rounded on her, she was already looking up at him with wide, alert eyes.

"Cops found three bodies out in the mesa last night," Mac said slowly, "Right around where I picked _you_ up." He cracked his knuckles methodically. "You know anything about that?"

Mac's blue eyes were deep ocean dark, and glimmering with barely-concealed rage.

The girl looked right back at him with doe-eyes, and appeared to be biting back a smile. She let him stew in his anger for a beat, before finally opening her mouth to speak.

"Only three?"


End file.
